The chess set was what brought us together. Battered brown and white wood, hit by so many silencing charms over the years that the best it could manage was a dull croak. It symbolised a connection that only we could share, at times only we could understand. It helped us escape things only we could imagine escaping, in circumstances only we managed to land ourselves in.
When things became too tense, I'd pick up my chess set and walk out of the common room. I knew that, sooner or later, she'd follow me; usually hugging a book to her chest, or with a quill stuck behind her ear, taking small, quick steps through the hallways.
We'd meet under the beech tree, hidden from the castle by its enormous trunk and thick foliage. If the weather was warm I'd take off my socks and shoes, and turn around while she wriggled out of her stockings, and we'd put our feet in the water of the lake, causing ripples to appear around our ankles. Sometimes the water would be cold, and I'd say so, wincing as she splashed water on me and told me I was a coward. Sometimes, if we stayed there long enough, little fish would begin to tickle the soles of her feet and she'd squeal. That signalled my chance to splash her, and tell her to toughen up. Needless to say, she'd splash me back, and harder.
Sometimes the water would be perfect; we'd be able to see small plants on the bottom near our feet and watch the sun reflect on the top of the water. Sometimes, we'd stay and watch the sun dip below the horizon, bathing us and our chess game in the rich red-orange tone that comes when the sun goes down.
If the weather was cold, we'd sit side-by-side, warming our hands over the bluebell flames she was so good at producing and carrying in jars. Sometimes she'd wrap her scarf around the lower part of her face to shield it from the cold, and pull a pair of gloves out of her cloak pocket. No matter how cold she was, no matter how much her hands were shaking from her shivering, she'd throw a glove to me, and we'd each wear one, breathing on the other hand to keep it warm.
No matter what the water temperature was, or the size of the flames, we'd play a game of chess. Sometimes I'd be black and she'd be white, or we'd swap, and I'd hear her laugh as I made my move, saying that we were upholding the long-standing tradition of ladies going first. It was in those games that I'd be most determined to win, but I wouldn't let such petty things disrupt out friendship as we bonded over those chess games.
Most of the time I would win – she tended to think with her heart, and try to cause her chessmen as little harm as possible, while I would direct them as if we were on a battlefield, driving through one enemy's defence after another, using the most straightforward, and often brutal, tactics possible. For her, it was all about reaching things – if she could move to the other side of the board with more than half her chessmen intact, she'd call it a victory. For me, it was all about crashing through or crashing – if I managed to win her king, it wouldn't matter how many pieces I'd lost along the way, the victory obliterated any guilt I'd originally felt.
It was after these games that we'd talk. Sometimes about classes and our work levels, and she'd chastise me for not having completed my work before leaving the common room. Sometimes about Quidditch, and I'd tell her about Gryffindor's improved chances for the Cup and the difference the new team was having on practices. Sometimes about S.P.E.W (and she'd tell me off for not adhering to its real name, but calling it SPEW instead), she'd tell me about the leaflet campaign, and ask if it would be cost effective to use school owls to deliver the leaflets to houses in Hogsmeade. Sometimes about Voldemort, but I'd be quick to deflect these conversations – I wasn't ready to talk about Sirius; a topic that was sure to come up, and I'm glad she accepted it quietly.
The only conversations she wouldn't participate strongly in were those about our other best friend, but those were conversations I knew she needed to have. I'd usually bring up the topic of Ron and she'd close her eyes briefly, trying to banish from her mind the only image we knew now: one in which he was entwined about Lavender Brown.
I'd find it interesting that in his presence she could be so cold, and so dismissive of him, but during our time outdoors she'd curl up within herself and not meet my eyes. Once, I thoughtlessly brought up the topic of Christmas and the present his girlfriend had given him. To my shock she choked back a sob and turned her face away, burying it in her robes. Alarmed, I moved closer to her and put my arm about her shoulders, pulling her towards me. She put her head on my shoulder, but kept her face down and her eyes hidden. To this day, I'm unsure as to whether she was laughing or crying at the time.
It was generally when we ran out of things to talk about that I'd put my shoes back on, and turn around while she pulled her stockings back on. From the number of thumps I'd hear, I'd assume they were painful to wear, though she just laughed when I asked her. We'd make our way back to the castle doors – I'd hold the chess set and she'd clean off any grass stains that might have made their way onto our robes as we sat by the lake.
As we'd enter the common room and see our best friend sitting in the lap of his beloved, she would sniff and stalk past them with her head held high, climbing the stairs until she reached her dormitory. I'd cross the room more slowly, ascending the stairs until my own dormitory and I'd lay down the chess set on my bed and pick up my bag as I made my way out of the dormitory, out of the common room and into the library, where I'd be able to count on the quiet atmosphere to finish my homework to a standard she'd be happy with.
hr /
As I sat in a large tent, watching my best friends exchange vows and pledge themselves unto one another for life, I thought back to those school days, when Hermione and I would escape the visual horrors of Ron's first relationship and sit by the lake, playing games of chess. I knew that, when they got to opening their wedding gifts, only Hermione would find the meaning in the polished wood chess set I'd given her and she too, would be able to recall the charm of our original, the set that cemented our friendship so firmly in those tumultuous days of our sixth year.